


Teenaged Gays

by ddynoliaeth



Category: Glee, The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boosh-typical bullshit, Canonverse for both shows, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Post s3 boosh, bit of crack, crossover fic, season 2 glee, this is just trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddynoliaeth/pseuds/ddynoliaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having relocated to Lima, Ohio after drinking a potion that reverts them to their teenaged selves, Howard Moon and Vince Noir find themselves attending William McKinley High School and tangled in the lives of the resident Glee club. With plenty of Boosh-typical wackiness, Glee just became a whole lot more chaotic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vince's First Day

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this please consider commissioning me to write some fic for you!  
> http://vincenoir.tumblr.com/post/161648060242/hey-so-im-severely-strapped-for-cash-at-the

He tried to dress a little less flashy for his first day at school, he really did. But Vince Noir was always one to make an entrance, and no matter how hard Howard needled him to “woah, now, tone it down” he was not going in there without at least a can and a half of hairspray and some Root Boost hidden away in an emergency hair kit. He did opt for one of his more conventional outfits - the one with the black diamentied shirt with half the buttons undone and the red skinny jeans - to placate Howard, as opposed to the mirror ball suit he desperately wanted to show off. After all, the Northern berk was right; he had no idea how people in Buttfuck Nowhere, Ohio - something like Lime was the real name, but Vince didn't really care much - would react to the styles that had made him the Prince of Camden. America was nothing like London, telly had taught him that much.

It was Vince's fault they had to move to Lima, Ohio, Howard reflected as he buttoned up his muted hawaiian shirt. It was at Vince's insistence that he not be seen by anyone in Britain until this rejuvenation thing had worn off that they packed up with Naboo and Bollo and flew to the U.S of A to wait out the potion’s effects. The potion, to Vince's credit, had not been his fault, but Howard’s. Ever since the Fountain of Youth hadn't panned out the way he'd wanted it to, he'd been agonising in silence over his appearance, and after the whole incident on his birthday - no, not that one, the one where Vince said he was old - it had resurfaced with a vengeance. So, really, was he so much to blame for knicking the potion in Naboo’s private bathroom that promised him a “youthful glow”? And it certainly wasn't his fault that Vince had seen him guzzling it and swiped a bit for himself. How was he to know it would revert them back to teenagers?

“Howard! Get your arse in gear!” Vince shouted from the living room. He'd been up for three hours already, styling his hair and applying just the right amount of makeup so it wouldn't look like he was wearing any at all, but would accentuate his eyes and cheekbones enough that they were noticed. He plucked at his flowing mane, preening in the mirror, listening to the crashbangfuck of Howard tripping over his own feet trying to walk. The door inched open, Howard’s worried face peeking out to take in the sight of his best friend: he sighed his relief at the relatively normal outfit he was met with. “You gonna keep starin’, or are we gonna go?”

Howard scoffed, shoving past a grinning Vince to pick up the satchel on the floor by the front door. It was a muted affair, light brown and slightly tattered. He turned around, jerking his head towards the door. “You just gonna grin at me, or are we gonna go?”

Vince giggled, picking up his own bag, a studded black duffel filled to the brim with alternative accessories he could slip on throughout the day to spice himself up if the place happened to be more fashionable than expected. He wobbled a little under the weight of it, but dutifully and happily trotted behind Howard out the door and to the carpet waiting in the driveway. 

“Hurry up, you ball bags, we're gonna be late, and I ain't gettin’ fired my first day,” Naboo grumbled, sitting cross-legged on the rug as passers-by looked on in confusion.

“Yeah, Naboo,” Howard ventured, standing awkwardly by the side of the carpet as Vince got himself comfortable behind Naboo. “You think that maybe showing up to a school on a flying carpet might come across as a bit weird?”

“I don't know how to drive a car, Howard, and I ain't lettin’ Bollo do it, he's lost his license too many times.”

“Yeah, not really what I was getting at.”

“Come on, Howard, get on the carpet,” Vince whined, gesturing to the spot beside him. “We'll be showin’ up in style! Everyone’ll be trippin’ over themselves to get in with us, imagine!”

Howard scowled, but sat beside Vince regardless, conceding this as a lost battle. Vince's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he started humming along to some song Howard didn't know as Naboo lifted the carpet into the air and took off down the street towards William McKinley High School. He did not forsee this day going well.

Inside the house, drying off the dishes in a pink and white floral apron, Bollo looked into the grimy dish water and mumbled to himself. “I've got a bad feeling about this.”

\----

The school was, as Howard had predicted, nowhere near on the level of the streets of Camden in terms of fashion. You'd think that with the freedom to wear whatever you want to school - unlike the schools back home, where you have to wear uniforms - the people of America would at least make an effort to present themselves in a fashionable way. Instead, Vince was in a sea of varsity jackets (so last year) and cheerleading outfits (never in). He could feel the mediocrity oozing through every corridor of the bloody place. There was even a chick who apparently thought jumpers with pictures of animals embroidered on them was the way to go. Vince shuddered violently when the rabbit on her tits winked at him. 

Howard was not faring particularly better. He'd been there for two minutes and already half the student body had had a go over his shirt-turtleneck combo. Seemed the masses of America weren't yet ready for the stylings of Howard Moon. He sighed into his locker, pretending not to look at Vince's arse as he strutted away like a punk peacock to find his own locker and failing miserably. The red jeans left little to the imagination for denim, although weren't quite as tight as some of the jumpsuits Howard had seen him wear over the years. He decided to nip that train of thought in the bud right there, lest his own pants start getting too tight.

After dropping his duffel in his locker, Vince shoved a notebook and mass amounts of sparkly gel pens into a smaller purse. He turned, locking his locker, and swanned off back towards Howard, who was weirdly staring at him as he moved. Three burly, tubby blokes were coming up behind Howard, looking like they were about to eat him, and not in a nice way.

Then they stopped. They caught Vince's eye, and squinted. One turned to the others, whispering hurriedly. When Vince was only a metre or two away, he was buffeted by a kid running into him, nearly sending him sprawling. In his periphery as he turned to the bloke, he saw Howard stand just a little straighter. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” the kid said, holding his hands out as if to check if Vince was alright but he was scared to touch. He was surprisingly well dressed, Vince thought, his eyes roaming over the outfit in front of him - red tartan coat, shirt proudly proclaiming “LIKES BOYS”, hair a beautiful wave back from his forehead, although not quite as beautiful as his own. All in all, Vince was pleased to find someone among the lepers of this country he had something in common with.

“No problem, mate, just a little-”

“Hey, fag!” Vince was cut off by one of the varsity thugs he'd spied creeping on Howard moments before. All three stood above them, glowering down at Vince with barely concealed sexual confusion - at least his crown as The Confuser was firmly in place atop his head. The kid beside him bristled.

“Really, Azimo?” he sighed. “Hasn't Karofsky told you this stuff isn't gonna-”

The kid cut off as three cups full of freezing, crushed ice were thrown directly into Vince's face, coming back to life with a shriek as Vince himself shut down in confusion and surprise. Vaguely, he could hear the bullies laughing, the kid fussing, and Howard shouting his name as he rushed forwards. But Vince couldn't react to anything, couldn't even move. He could feel the red ice dripping down the side of his face. Horrified, he realised his hair would be ruined. He could feel a scream building in his chest, but he couldn't open his mouth to let it out. 

Howard watched in terror as, seemingly in slow motion, three slushies were thrown directly in Vince's beautiful face. He shouted, brain going silent as he raced to Vince's side and hovered his hands over that gorgeous face, wanting to touch but too frightened and too worried. Eventually, he settled on grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the bathrooms. The tall Vince Junior beside him followed along with a creased forehead. 

\----

In the bathroom, Howard wet a wad of paper towels and dabbed at Vince's face and chest, cleaning off the sticky. The other kid flitted about, unsure whether to offer his help or not. It didn't take long for Howard to snap.

“What? What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“N-no, I mean yeah, I mean…” he trailed off, looking at Howard with trepidation. Howard sighed, holding out the paper towel. He took it and started wiping at Vince's chest. “I'm Kurt, by the way.”

“Howard,” was the quiet reply. He was too busy staring intently at Vince's vacant face.

“What's wrong with him?” Kurt asked, looking into the giant empty eyes in front of him. 

“He's in shock.”

Kurt finished cleaning off Vince in silence, until he started blinking again and shook himself a little. He looked in confusion at Kurt as Howard rushed forward, pulling him to his chest and cradling his head.

“Howard, Howard, Howard what are you doing?”

“Oh, sorry, Little Man,” Howard mumbled, letting him go. “I was just, you know, worried.”

“Worried? What're you worried for?” Vince smiled. Howard and Kurt looked on in confusion. “What, is there shit on my face?” He turned to look in the mirror, and Howard’s arm shot out to stop him.

“Wait, Vince, no!”

Vince screamed.

The toilet cubicle door slammed closed, and Howard could barely hear the snick of the lock over the loud sobbing. 

“Is he okay?” Kurt whispered, eyes wide in fright and a hint of understanding. He looked like the type to scream over his hair being ruined, although he doubted it would be nearly as traumatizing for him as it was for Vince. 

“He will be,” Howard whispered back, adding in a louder tone, “Vince, I'm going to go get your hair stuff from your locker, okay?”

A whimper came from the cubicle, and Vince opened the door a crack so only one eye was visible. “Don't leave me, Howard.”

Howard sighed, and turned to Kurt. 

“I have some extra clothes in my locker,” Kurt said. Vince eyed him from behind the safety of the door, and nodded: Kurt scurried out of the bathroom.

“Can you…?” Vince whispered. Howard sighed again, pushing open the cubicle and locking it behind him. Vince curled up on the toilet - the seat obviously down - and looked dejectedly at his feet. 

“Vince, it'll be okay.”

Vince grunted noncommittally, and shrugged. 

“Kurt will bring you some clothes, and I'll go get your hair stuff, and it'll all be fine. You trust me, yeah?”

Vince glanced up. “Yeah, Howard. I trust you.”

\---- 

Cleaned and hair rejuvenated, Vince turned from the mirror and grinned at the two blokes with him. Kurt’s shirt - just a plain white button up, with a black waistcoat over the top - was slightly too big, but he left the waistcoat open and the top four buttons undone, and he thought the look was altogether quite fashionable when paired with his red jeans (miraculously spared). His hair was back to its voluptuous black self, like a puffed up crow. He nodded at Kurt.

“Thanks, mate. Your clothes are genius,” he said. “Vince.”

Kurt took the offered hand, feeling a sense of solidarity between them. He smiled in return.

“Kurt. And thanks, I do try. It's nice to see someone else with a sense of fashion around here.”

“You got that right!” Vince laughed. 

Howard watched the two interact with the air of someone used to seeing the most important person in his life getting on better with other people. He smiled softly when Vince turned his radiant grin to him.

“Thanks, Howard, you're a lifesaver.”

“It's nothing, sir,” Howard replied.

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” Vince asked.

“Well,” Kurt smiled. “Have you two ever heard of Glee Club?”


	2. Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Vince audition for the Glee Club.

 

The room was surprisingly full for a club with the description Kurt provided. Just a whiteboard and a bunch of uncomfortable looking chairs, with the bare bones of a band hanging out in the corner. A lot of people, though, and that surprised Howard. Surely in America theatre-type kids were just as ostracised as in England?

 

“Hey, Mister Schuester,” Kurt said, practically skipping up to the young teacher at the whiteboard, in the middle of writing “JOURNEY” in big, block letters. “I brought a couple potential newbies!” 

 

Mister Schuester turned and appraised Howard and Vince, a glint of recognition in his eye as he took in the high and not-so-high fashion looks they were sporting. Howard didn't take particularly well to that look - it seemed as though the man assumed they were misfit outcasts. Which they were, but it was just downright rude to  _ assume  _ it.

 

“Thanks, Kurt,” Schuester said, smiling kindly at the kid. He turned to Howard and Vince. “New to the school?” 

 

“Yes, sir. New to the country. I'm Howard Moon, and this is my- this is Vince Noir,” Howard said, almost introducing Vince as his apprentice. He assumed, correctly, that descriptor would be out of place in this context - but didn't notice until it was too late that his use of the word ‘sir’ took on a different meaning here.

 

“Alright?” said Vince, grinning. Damn bastard could fit in anywhere.

 

“Well,” Schuester said, dropping the whiteboard marker, and moved off to sit with the large group of kids on the plastic seats. “Why don’t you guys show us what you’ve got?”

 

Howard and Vince looked at each other, and came to an immediate, if silent, understanding. Vince preened and prepared his voice as Howard retrieved the electronic keyboard from a quietly offended pianist. He set the keyboard down beside Vince and nodded to him. They both took a deep breath and left it hanging for a few beats, then;

 

_ “Future Sailors,”  _ they sang in unison, grooving along with the electronic beat.  _ “We’re Future Sailors.” _

 

_ “Electronic castaway,”  _ Vince sang, posing dramatically and moving his hand over his face in the ‘electro boy’ move.

 

_ “Digital stowaway,”  _ Howard continued, bobbing around.

 

_ “Cyborg sea-dog, tell me what you dream of.” _

 

_ “Future Sailors.”  _ Back to harmonising.  _ “Oh yeah! We’re Future Sailors!” _

 

They abruptly cut off the song when they noticed how confused their audience seemed. They shuffled awkwardly, frowning, Howard glancing at Vince for assurance and only finding a lack of self-confidence, which just made Howard feel more out of place and uncomfortable.

 

“I haven’t heard that song before,” said a girl - the one with the winking rabbit on her tits. “Who wrote it?”

 

“Uh,” Howard said. “We did?”

 

“You write your own songs?” asked the giant boy beside the tiny blonde, his arm around the back of her chair.

 

“Ain’t that what bands do?” replied Vince.

 

“We tend to do show-stopping renditions of famous songs,” the girl says, her voice annoyingly matter-of-fact. “Top 40, show tunes, that sort of thing.”

 

“Show tunes?” mumbled Vince.

 

“Alright,” Howard said. “But, um, are we…?”

 

“We’d be happy to have you,” Schuester said, smiling widely. “Your voices are excellent; we’d be a better group for having you with us.”

 

Kurt jumped up excitedly, bounding over to the pair. “What did I tell you? Glee Club is great! This is gonna be awesome - you’ll love it here.” He pulled Vince into a hug, making Howard bristle with protectiveness and not a small amount of jealousy. 

 

\----

 

After an hour of listening to rabbit tit girl - named Rachel Berry, as Vince has since found out - singing at an uncomfortably high pitch, the club was let out. Howard headed out of the room, and got halfway down the corridor before he realised Vince wasn’t following him. He turned, looking for his little companion, finding nothing but condescending and disapproving glares.

 

Vince, on the other hand, had been abducted by a girl almost a foot taller than him, dressed in one of those utterly horrendous cheerleader outfits. The girl - Santana, as she introduced herself - twirled a lock of black hair around a dark finger as she spoke.

 

“Anyway, your hair is gorgeous,” she said, grinning. The mammoth of a man - Finn? - walked past them with a suspicious glance. “And I’m kind of the Girl To See around here for everything: style, dates, scalding burns. I’m also the Girl To Not Piss Off, but I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

 

“Uh, right,” Vince said, looking out the doorway, trying to find where exactly Howard went. 

 

“Okay, I’m just gonna come right out and say it: I think we should date.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Vince replied, not paying the slightest bit of attention. “Wait, what?”

 

“You, me, Breadsticks. Eight o’clock,” Santana said, tapping him on the arm as she walked past him. 

 

Vince watched her leave in complete confusion. 

 

“I don’t know what that means!”

 

\----

 

“And then we performed  _ Future Sailors _ for them, and apparently they don’t even write their own songs, but I guess we’ve gotta fit in somehow, and what’s cooler than rock n roll, right?” Vince prattled on to Naboo and Bollo, the latter of whom seemed inordinately interested in the rambling story under all that gorilla hair on his face. Naboo seemed about as involved as the story warranted, but he always appeared to be completely disinterested in everything, so that was unavoidable.

 

Howard wasn’t entirely sure that a Glee Club was really the way to get themselves into the popular circle, but he also didn’t know exactly how else to do it, considering he’d never been one of the popular kids and probably (certainly) never would. Vince seemed to be having fun, though, and was quite excited about his new friend, Kurt. Howard felt surprisingly jealous of the kid - it’s not like he was going to take Vince away from him. He was years and years younger than them, even though it didn’t seem like it right now, and besides that he and Vince had  _ history _ . A strange, winding, near-twenty five year history, but a history nonetheless. 

 

Vince tired himself out quite quickly that night, considering the adrenaline of the day, dealing with the whole Slushies-in-the-face catastrophe. He retired to his bed at about nine, much earlier than he normally would, and left Howard reading on the lounge room couch. 

 

He had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, but ignored it as he snuggled up into the covers in his vest and little blue pants. He was just dropping off to sleep when a confident, demanding voice whispered in his memory; “you, me, Breadsticks. Eight o’clock.” He realised belatedly that, yes, that had been a request for a date, and, yes, he did in fact agree to it and then missed it. 

 

He hoped that didn’t mean he’d already alienated one of the biggest fish in the tiny pond known as McKinley High. 

 

\----

 

“And where the fuck were you?”

 

Vince winced as he walked into Glee Club the next day, wearing his little green shirt with the lightning bolts, a pair of black skinny jeans, and the red cowboy boots he stole from the Black Frost. Howard looked at him, confused, and wandered off to sit in the audience seats. Archie stopped beside him and smiled politely, starting up a conversation about film.

 

Santana glared at Vince, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. Members of the Glee Club continued to trail in through the door as she waited for an explanation as to why she was left standing at Breadsticks the night before, dateless in the cold.

 

“Okay,” Vince started, ushering her over into the corner to talk quietly. “Cards on the table. I didn’t realise I agreed to a date - I wasn’t exactly listening. And, um, I’m kind of… Not  _ involved  _ per se, but involved enough with someone that seeing anyone else is a no-go.”

 

“It’s that mustache guy you came here with, isn’t it?” Santana asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have pretty awesome gaydar, or bi-dar, but I pegged him as pretty straight.”

 

“I- No! It’s not Howard!” Vince whisper-shouted, moving in closer and looking terrified, glancing at Howard - deep in conversation with Archie about Danish avant garde cinema and finding a kindred spirit. “Besides, he’s not straight. I mean, I’m pretty sure he isn’t. There was a whole thing at his birthday last yea- that’s not important! It’s  _ not  _ Howard.”

 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. You can’t cheat a cheater, and you can’t lie to a liar,” Santana smirked. “I won’t say anything. But I expect a make-up date.”

 

“But, I just told you I’m not interested,” Vince said, voice clouded by confusion and a hint of fear. 

 

“Oh, I know. But I need a new beard since my last one ditched, and I’ve got dirt on you now.”

 

With that, Santana walked off and sat down beside the blonde cheerleader - Brittany? - with the permanently confused look on her face. Vince stared at the empty spot she left behind, processing, until Kurt came in arm-in-arm with Rachel and gave him a funny look. Vince followed him to the audience seats, and took his place beside Howard. Two days in and he’s already making enemies, while Howard is engrossed in a new friend.

  
Vince hated America. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just such crack but I've always done Glee crossovers rather than high school aus. Enjoy what will eventually be a multi-chaptered monstrosity of I don't even know.


End file.
